Quotes About Intrigue

There were always eyes. A little tailor on his way home from a movie. A waitress in a drive-in. A butcher-boy on a bicycle. A room clerk with a wet pointed nose. A detective's wife who was alert, too alert. Whose eyes saw too much. There were always eyes but they didn't see. He had proved it.

Dorothy B. Hughes

If you can repress for a moment your spinster-like longing to meddle in my affairs,' said Lymond cuttingly, from the door, 'I am waiting to go.

Did I ever tell you,' said Lymond pausing on the afterthought, on his way to the flap, 'that that aunt of mine once hatched an egg?' He paused, deep in thought, and walked slowly to the door before turning again. His lordship of Aubigny, staring after the vanishing form of his brother, received the full splendour of Lymond's smile. 'It was a cuckoo,' said Francis Crawford prosaically, and followed Lennox out.

Let's consider the subject exhausted except for choosing the wedding gift. Something tasteful with poison in it, perhaps. Although I can't think which of them deserves it the more.

Philippa drew a deep breath, and found relief in expelling it. 'Do you think,' she said carefully, 'that someone is going to be goaded into doing something soon?' There was a long pause. 'I think,' said Jerott at length, equally carefully, 'that someone is going to the court of Sultan Suleiman the Magnificent, and someone else is going to Flaw Valleys, England, to Mother.' Which summed it up, Philippa supposed, with regret.

Why did you decide to join me?" "Why … ?" repeated Redhead, needing time to think. "Word of three letters," said Lymond. "Come along, for God's sake: no need to let me have it all my own way. What was it? Rape, incest, theft, treason, arson, wetting the bed at night …" "… Or burning my mother alive," said the other sarcastically. "Oh, be original at least.

My dear Gaultier,' said Lymond. 'It will send the Shadow of God into transports. I suppose I've seen objects more grisly before, but it doesn't spring to mind where.… Twenty-four-carat gold, Jerott. Look. And studded with rubies like fish-roes.' 'Yes. I think he'll be pleased,' said Georges Gaultier. For the first time satisfaction, animation and even cheerfulness rang in his voice. 'Sickening, isn't it?

A smile, bracketing his still mouth, spread like bane over Lymond's pale face.

Good evening, ladies. The gentlemen now entering behind you are all fully armed. I am Francis Crawford of Lymond and I want your lives or your jewels -- the latter for preference; both if necessary.

I'm sorry,' said Jerott, his eyes elsewhere. What was the attraction here, in God's name? Not the little woman in the stained gown, surely? Or the plain fourteen-year-old who had been so courageous the night Trotty died?

Our motive in locking it, if it matters, was to spare you the embarrassment of an interruption. Unless the comte de Sevigny of today is really so different from the Master of Culter of ten years ago?' Perfectly at his ease, the decorative young man he was addressing leaned back on the shutters and studied him. 'I hope so,' Lymond said. 'When you were twenty, Mr Erskine, you killed a priest in the belltower at Montrose. Would you do so again?

Are you implying,' said Philippa coldly, 'that I enjoyed being brought up surrounded by eunuchs?' 'No,' said Lymond. 'But I expect you enjoyed it more than the eunuchs did.

You invited them without Lymond knowing?' said Danny Hislop. He wriggled into the circle. 'Can I be there when he hears about it?

What is your principal characteristic, would you say?' 'Treacherousness,' said Danny, gloriously. 'That,' said Lymond pleasantly, 'is everyone's principal characteristic.

His hair soft as a nestling's, his eyes graceless with malice, Lymond was watching him in a silver mirror.

It's true? You have no interest in him? But everyone either abominates Francis Crawford or longs to possess him. I wonder why you alone should be immune.

Danny Hislop was not there, nor the artist called Blacklock. Riding between Lymond and the fresh-faced Knight of St John who did not like eagles, Chancellor asked after them. Ludovic d'Harcourt glanced at Lymond without answering. Lymond said, 'They are undergoing a course of correction. If in the event they are either correct or in the least chastened, I shall be surprised.

I'm not in St Mary's because I like it. I am embarked spellbound on a study of devil-worship.

All I gathered from that is that Francis Crawford is a raging harlot.

And for Adam Blacklock the artist, older, wiser, and perhaps less vulnerable than once he had been, a chance to assess from maturity a person whose maturity was and always had been a thing disconcerting to witness. For what, after these violent years, would entertain or even interest Francis Crawford, Blacklock found he had no idea.

If you are asking, did Eloise make no effort to avoid the explosion which killed her, the answer is probably yes. If you are also asking, was I her lover, the answer is no. After all,' said Lymond, 'that would be incest.' And with a click, the door closed finally after him.

Your husband appears to possess an uncanny gift for seducing his enemies.

Gabriel thinks a lot of you.' 'I thought I talked too much for his comfort,' said Lymond. 'But I hear he has a ravishing sister. I must mend my ways.